


spoken like a promise

by vexahlla



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: During Canon, M/M, whats better than this? just a couple of guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 02:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12422874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexahlla/pseuds/vexahlla
Summary: He wasn't kidding about the "ever at your side" part.





	spoken like a promise

**Author's Note:**

> a short fic i originally posted on my tumblr as a "feel better soon" gift for my friend. i have a thing about prompto cheering up noctis, but mostly: i have a thing for their healthy friendship/relationship.
> 
> i hope you'll enjoy this!

he is a quiet storm, something that screams danger and all the troubles cor would have told him to leave well enough alone, but no, he is here like it or not. noctis, dangerous and terrifying as he may be, still a boy - or rather, he is a boy turned man, with the power of gods under his fingertips and in his veins. prompto has never learned to leave well enough alone, not when he can  _help_ , not when he can ease pain.

(he is reminded, in these times, of a guidance counselor’s voice:  _you would make a great therapist, i think._ )

besides, what could make the crown prince of the kingdom stand outside in the rain, swinging violently and yet so precisely an engine blade? what feelings are going through his head to make his eyes narrow and harden in cold, icy fury?

what pains are there, lurking underneath his facade of indifference?

so prompto sits, and waits, and waits, and waits there long enough that the rain has soaked his clothes, chilled him down to the bone, and there is no doubt that he will catch a cold when he lays under his blankets tonight.

it doesn’t matter, not really. noctis fares worse than he, but he is content to wait.

(if he pushes, then noctis will crumble. if he does nothing, then noctis will bottle it. if he is just  _close_  enough, then maybe, well, maybe it will be enough.)

“you’re soaked,” says the boy with raven hair and cold eyes when he catches prompto’s gaze. if, for a brief moment, his features soften then prompto will not say a word; ever are the matters of the heart, and he is just glad enough to see the furrow in the brow fall away.

so, he smiles and he laughs. “i could say the same to you.” a moment passes. noctis will not initiate, so prompto must for him. he is still learning how to be social, this the blond knows. “walk with me?”

noctis shrugs, tosses his blade off to the side as if a mere toy and watches it dissolve into specs of light and aether, being swept away by the cold wind. when prompto starts walking, he is quiet in following suit, striding along in side in silence.

noctis is a storm, quiet and unrelenting, but there is a comfort that his presence brings, even if he wanted it to be the other way around. there can’t be a noctis without a prompto, just like there isn’t a prompto without a noctis; two halves of the same coin, two puzzle pieces fit so perfectly together, strands of their bond woven around them like a tangled red string of fate that cannot separate them.

he says it like a joke, noctis does, when speaks to break the loud silence. “are you always going to follow me around?”

there is no hesitation or joking matter in prompto’s reply: “you should know me by now,” he chastises, but then his voice is teasing, mocking. “ _ever_  by your side, my  _liege.”_

noctis shoves him in the shoulder. “oh my god, shut up.”

the smile on his face was worth it though.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [tumblr](http://calebwidogst.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/calebwidodad)
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
